


A Revelation in the Light of Day

by kay_emm_gee



Series: holy water cannot help us now [2]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Demonic Possession, Demons, F/M, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-27
Updated: 2016-01-27
Packaged: 2018-05-16 18:22:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5836039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kay_emm_gee/pseuds/kay_emm_gee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Bellamy found Clarke again, he never imagined it would be like this, with her eyes black as pitch and a feral snarl ripping from her throat. He never imagined that demons existed either, but if he wanted to save her, he was going to have to start believing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Revelation in the Light of Day

**Author's Note:**

> A continuation of my ghost!Wells verse because I just don't know when to leave well enough alone :)

Bellamy was on a scouting mission with Miller and Monroe when they found her.

He thought Clarke was a reaper at first. She was feral-looking enough—torn clothes, scabbed hands, hair tangled and filled with twigs–snarling at him amidst the trees.

Then he saw her eyes: all shining black and far too focused to be strung out on the drug that still left Lincoln with nightmares months later.

When she rushed them, she let out a bloodcurdling scream in a language that sounded older than the Earth. She was moving fast—too fast for a human. She propelled herself off the trees, pushing and crouching and terrifying. As frightening as her cries were though, the sound that stopped his heart was the echoing gunshot from their line that followed.

“Hold your fire!” He roared. He prayed Clarke hadn’t been hit. He didn’t know what was wrong with her, but a bullet in the brain wasn’t the answer.

Whether she had been hit or not, she continued towards them. On her way, she lashed out at Miller, swiped at Monroe, and then launched herself at him. Her gaunt face was bone white, but he could see crusted blood at the corners of her mouth. Bellamy barely ducked her wild fists, looking for an opening to subdue her in a way that would cause the least amount of damage to them both.

When he found a way—trapping her arms against her body from behind–she thrashed and shrieked in his strong grip. Her strength and her wildness sent shivers down his spine, but he kept his hold on her.

“What the hell is wrong with her?” Monroe muttered with a mix of wariness and worry.

Bellamy let out a sharp shout as Clarke bit his hand. Even then, he didn’t let go her, though his stomach twisted as he realized what needed to be done. They couldn’t leave her like this, nor could they bring her back to camp with her fighting them every step of the way.  So as she snapped her teeth, a bone-chilling growl ripping from her, he crooked his elbow around her throat and tightened. It took longer than he thought for her to succumb to the lack of air. She scrabbled at his arm with her blunt fingers, letting out furious choking noises.

“Easy, Clarke,” he murmured in her ear roughly. He tried not to gag at the scent of rot and sweat and piss rolling off of her. Slowly, she quieted, then fell limp in his arms.

“Holy fucking shit,” Miller breathed as Bellamy bent down to scoop her unconscious body up.

“We need to get her back,” he grunted out as he began walking in the direction of camp.

Monroe jogged up next to him. “Abby will know what to do, right?”

Bellamy pressed his lips together, unsure of the answer. They walked in silence, and Clarke kept still. Bellamy tried to tamp down the sick twist of his stomach at feeling her head listlessly knock into his chest with each step he took across the uneven terrain.

Just as the trees started to thin out, Miller touched his shoulder.

“You’re sure this is a good idea, man?”

“We’re bringing her back,” Bellamy snapped. There was no way he’d leave Clarke, not again.

“I meant like this. She’s– _wrong.”_

_Abnormal. Unnatural._

_Supernatural._

“If she wakes up, goes off again–the guards may not hesitate.”

Bellamy couldn’t stomach the thought, but he knew Miller was right. “Get Abby and bring her here then.”

His friend took off like a shot, but suddenly he changed his mind.

“Get Raven instead!” He called out. Miller waved a hand to signal that he had heard without even stopping, and then he was out of sight.

Monroe exhaled tensely, and Bellamy leaned back against a tree with Clarke still in his arms. Now all they could do was wait.

* * *

“You’re sure about this?” Bellamy muttered to Raven as they approached the lone cottage. Miller and Monroe had stayed behind. They hadn’t wanted to, but if too many of them went missing, questions would pop up. He didn’t need that, not now. He needed to focus on Clarke.

“This Grounder woman helped me get Wells back,” Raven replied. She glanced at the boy walking in front of them, her expression softening. Then she scowled and called up to him, “Why don’t you have a gun?”

Wells glanced back and shrugged, fighting a smile. “Because I have you here to protect me, dear.”

Raven snorted at the sarcasm, and Bellamy was about to do the same. Then Clarke stirred in his arm, and her low moan echoed in the darkening forest.

“She’s waking up,” Raven earned, her gait quickening. “We need to get her inside.”

With little choice left, Bellamy followed Raven and Wells up the stairs of the cottage porch. They knocked once, twice. No answer. He made an impatient sound. Raven knocked again, while Wells glanced back at Clarke, worry etched into the lines creasing his forehead. Something hot shifted in Bellamy’s gut, something possessive, something entirely too immature and irrelevant for the situation. All because Clarke’s best friend–who was back from the dead–was looking at her like she was precious and fragile and known so well to him.

“Back again?”

Bellamy whipped around, and Clarke’s dangling legs nearly swiped Wells to the floor. A woman with a wrinkled face and a large, grey braid that fell over her shoulder to her waist stared up at them. Then she sighed, hitching the basket of clothing higher up on her hip.

“Move,” she grunted, hobbling up the steps. She was taller than he expected, or maybe that was just her presence taking up so much space. Raven immediately followed her into the cabin, her fingers trailing over the wooden doorframe. Bellamy followed, careful not to knock Clarke into anything, and Wells brought up the rear.

“Fold these.”

Surprisingly, Raven obliged by taking the garment the Grounder was holding out, but she also didn’t wait a beat to say, “Something is wrong with our friend.”

“Is there now?”

“Can you help her or not?” Bellamy barked, clutching Clarke closer.

The woman turned her eyes on him, cloudy with age but still bottomless, fathomless, and he felt like he was staring into the abyss of space.

“Bring your golden girl here,” she rasped suddenly.

Bellamy faltered at the eerie tone her voice took on, and Wells stepped in between as a shield. Slowly, Raven reached up to squeeze his arm.

“Move,” she whispered to Wells. Then she shot a hard look at Bellamy, nodding towards the Grounder woman. “Bring her over.”

Jaw grinding, he stepped forward to lay Clarke on the tiny wooden bed with the fur pelts and quilted blanket. Shadows from the setting sun played on her pale face as he moved away. Just after he brushed a stray strand of hair off her cheek, the woman nudged him out of the way. Bellamy watched as she reached for Clarke’s wrists, feeling for her pulse, then trailed her bony fingers over her neck, her lips, her closed eyelids. Clarke twitched, and the slow roar of his pulse grew louder in his ears.

“ _Demon,”_ the woman finally breathed raggedly.

The word stuck like a blade on Bellamy’s chest, sharp and surprising. Maybe he should have been expecting it; the black eyes should have given something away. Or the fact that Wells was back from the dead, that scouts had reported sightings of wolf-like figures running on only hind legs through the woods, that the lights seemed to short out whenever Monty walked into a room now.

Sometimes Bellamy wondered if they should’ve stayed in space.

“Demon,” Wells repeated faintly. He closed his eyes, shaking his head. “What–how–”

“Says the ghost boy,” Raven joked. It fell flat, and she grimaced, knowing it.

“What exactly do you mean by demon?” Bellamy finally managed to ask.

“A dark spirit. Greedy little things. They see a crack in a soul, and they worm their way through, pushing everything else aside,” the Grounder explained as she shifted on the bed. “Dig their claws in, nestle down in the tangled pain of the person, mangling whoever was there before to let the guilt and misery that stained the soul in the first place fester more to feed themselves.”

Raven inhaled sharply, and Bellamy clenched his hands into fist.

“Is Clarke still there too?” Wells asked, desperation in his voice.

“She’s still there.” Then the woman looked at them with pity. “You should wish she was not.”

“What does that mean?” Bellamy demanded. He felt like he was going to throw up.

The woman ignored him. “Do you want to save your friend? It might be possible, if you let me try. She also might die. But perhaps that would be kinder than letting her stay like this.”

Bellamy wanted to throttle her, because of course they wanted to save Clarke, but Wells merely nodded, and then the woman straightened up. She barked out orders: for rope, for water, for someone to build up the fire. Raven and Wells got to it, bustling around him. He couldn’t make himself move, though. His legs were locked into place, and he could feel them trembling with the effort to just keep him standing.

“Maybe you should wait outside,” Wells suggested quietly in between chores.

Bellamy snapped his gaze away from Clarke, throat raw with angry protest. Wells’ eyes widened and he backed away with his hands raised.

“Never mind,” he murmured, grimacing with apology and something sadder.

“He _will_ wait outside,” the woman commanded suddenly.

Bellamy growled, “Like hell I will.”

“You think I don’t see the crack in your soul too?” The woman demanded, eyes flashing. “You are as dark as her, boy. I won’t cast the demon from her only to have it take up residence in you.”

“I won’t leave her!” Bellamy shouted.

“We’ll stay with her,” Raven shot back. “That good enough for you?”

Before he could answer, the woman shook her head. “You go out too. Same reason. He can stay though.” She gestured at Wells, who looked relieved and guilty all at once.

Bellamy glared at Wells for a minute before turning on his heel. He strode out the door, slamming it behind him and nearly jumping off the porch steps. Raven followed a moment behind, and he felt her watching him as he paced across the yard, too worried and angry to keep still. He should be relieved at least one of them could stay with Clarke while the Grounder woman did whatever she was going to do to fix her. It just didn’t seem right that it wasn’t him.

* * *

Night had fully settled over the cottage yard and surrounding forest when an unearthly scream sounded from inside. _Clarke._ He shot up from his seat at the base of a tree, but Raven stood on the porch stairs, blocking his way. Another screech from Clarke followed, turning into an ugly cackle and then a hiss. _The demon._ Getting right up in Raven’s face, Bellamy glared down at her. He could barely stop himself from grabbing her shoulders and wrenching her aside.

“Out of my way,” he ground out.

“Not on your life,” she spat back. She shoved him back, and he stumbled down the stairs.

Another shriek, this one full of pain and entirely Clarke. He moved forward, and Raven tipped her head up in challenge. “You heard what the woman said. You’ll be putting yourself in danger if you–”

“I need to be in there!”

“What is Clarke going to do when she comes to, finally herself again, only to find you possessed?” Raven shouted back, pointing accusingly. “What are we _all_ going to do if that happens? You think she’d thank you? For leaving us, for leaving _her_ , maybe forever because you couldn’t do one little thing you were asked to? You want to be with her? Then stay the hell outside where you’re safe and will stay safe until she is too!”

There were tears in her eyes and steel in her voice, but also sorrow and understanding, and he hated Raven so very much in that moment. He also knew she was right.

“ _Fuck_.” His shout mixed with another of Clarke’s screams. His fist flew out, connecting with the porch railing. A few pieces of chipped wood flew off, and his knuckles throbbed, now bloody and filled with splinters.

As the hours passed, he focused on the pain in his hand. He couldn’t do much else, because listening to Clarke scream or watching Raven monitor him with wariness and sympathy would snap his already tenuous patience. It was only when a loud crash and a shout from Wells cut through the night that Bellamy found himself heading towards the cottage again.

“Raven!” Wells yelled, and the two of them bolted for the door. When they stumbled inside, they saw upended furniture and a doused fire in the hearth. The Grounder woman was splayed out on the floor, unmoving and limp. Bellamy’s heart stopped when he saw Clarke standing, gripping a knife and facing off with Wells.

“Stay away,” she ordered shakily at her friend as they moved inside. “Stay away from me.”

“Clarke,” Wells pleaded. “You’re safe. You’re you. We’re here to help.”

“No!” She screamed, her face twisting in fear. “No! You’re never here to help. You’re here, and then you’re saying I should’ve saved you, and I should have. Wells, I should have–”

“Clarke.” The name had escaped Bellamy, and Raven tensed beside him.

Clarke whipped around, raising the knife. Her eyes widened when she saw him, and impossibly, the fear in them grew.

“Stay away!” She screamed, as she scrambled back and away from all of them. “No, no, _no_!”

Bellamy and Wells stepped forward at the same time, but Wells was closer. He got to her first, but it also meant he was within range of her weapon. When she slashed out, he managed to dodge the blade but not her fist which came after. With a crack, Wells groaned then fell to the ground. Raven pushed by in a blur to get to him, and Bellamy managed to catch Clarke by the arm before she launched herself in that direction too.

“Let me go!” She shouted, thrashing in his arms like she had earlier. This time, though, she was weak, frantic, and scared. There was no unnaturalness to her or her movements, and Bellamy nearly let her go in relief. “Let me go, let me go, letmego.”

“Shh, Clarke. It’s me. I’m here. This is real. You’re safe.” He tried to soothe her, but she was crying now, hysterical. Half-intelligible shrieks left her, about knives in his stomach and her hands on the blade, blood on her lips as she kissed his cheek and the light leaving his eyes as he said _may we meet again_. Bellamy was nearing the edge of hysterical himself as she thrashed, starting to realize to what horrifying extent the demon had been tormenting Clarke from inside her mind. 

Then she shuddered, going still, hunching over as Bellamy hugged her from behind. Curled in on herself, with him surrounding her, she gasped, “I killed you. Over and over again I killed you. And you let me. Every time. You let me.”

A sob racked through her, then another and another. Her hands gripped his wrists as his arms crossed over her middle to support her, both of them holding on firmly, desperately.

“You didn’t kill me. You never would. And I’d never let you,” he murmured in her ear. “It’s me Clarke. And you’re you. You’re safe.”

When she finally stilled, her cries turning to whimpers, he knew she was starting to believe him. Slowly, he loosened his hold, allowing her to turn in his arms. When she looked up at him with cautious, fearful red-rimmed but blue–not black–eyes, he tightened his arms around her again.

“Clarke,” he breathed, and her own breath hitched when he spoke her name.

As one hand gripped his shirt, the other came up to hover in front of his face. Her fingers twitched, tracing the air over his cheek. When the pad of her pointer finally brushed his skin, he shivered. She continued to trace his features from just a hair away, as if making sure every freckle was in the right place, every line matched her memory of the real him.

“It’s you,” she finally whispered, then pressed her face into his chest.

Her warm breath seeped through his shirt to his skin and untied the knots in his stomach. Slowly the tightness in his chest turned to just a dull ache as he felt the rise and fall of her chest even out under his arms encircling her.

They stood there for how long, he didn’t know, but then Raven was tentatively touching his shoulder to pry him away. Wells hovered in the background as the girls hugged, and Clarke still shied away from her friend, not understanding. It wasn’t until she was in his arms that she realized he was real too, and then she was crying again.

“Another time,” Raven said with a brief smile when Clarke asked for the how of his return. “Right now I think we all need some sleep. We’ll head back to camp in the morning and tell you that story on the way.”

Clarke opened her mouth to protest, but Bellamy slipped a hand against her back. She tensed, then leaned back into his touch.

“Sleep,” he agreed, steering her towards the front of the cabin. Wells had settled its owner on the bed in the time Bellamy had been dealing with Clarke. The woman’s eyes fluttered open briefly as they passed, and she smiled when she saw Clarke. He started to speak, but she waved him off.

“I know you are thankful. Don’t waste words on me, boy.”

Clarke looked up at him in question, but Bellamy shook his head.

“Tomorrow then,” she demanded, quietly but firmly, and he nodded in agreement.

Their friends were already settled on the floor, facing each other, when he and Clarke reached the front. Raven was tracing the bump on Wells’ brow, poking at it as he winced. She hissed in apology, but he soothed her worry away with a smile. Clarke paused, staring at them in confusion, and then understanding.

“Tomorrow,” Bellamy promised over her shoulder, and she huffed wryly under her breath.

It was a bit awkward as they laid down, knees bumping and arms brushing in the little space left for them. Clarke seemed brittle as the sound of their breathing filled the dim cabin, and he didn’t know what to do.

Then she hesitantly shifted up, scooting over to him. He turned his head, blinking at her in the dark. With a question in her eyes, she slowly lowered herself towards him. In tandem, he moved his arm out of the way, allowing her to slip right into his side. He pulled her in close, pulse hammering at the way she fit so well against him.

“You better be here when I wake up,” she murmured, and he closed his eyes in relief.

“I promise,” he answered in a whisper, playing with the ends of her matted hair.

She moved her head in acknowledgement, then relaxed, finally drifting off into sleep, in his arms, something Bellamy thought he would never see.

* * *

That was how they fell asleep–together, tangled up in one another–for the next few weeks. The first night back home Clarke had tried to stay with Raven, but then a knock had come at Bellamy’s door just after midnight. He let her in without a word, crawling into his bed right after her, his front against her tense back.

“I’m back,” she said in a broken tone.

“You’re back,” he repeated, breathing her in.

It was hard for both of them that first night, but they did it together. And together they managed her nightmares, and his too, and mornings when his arm was asleep from her head resting on it, or her leg numb from where his had pinned it to the mattress. There were a few comments made from some of the more immature delinquents–and adults too–about the arrangement. But a glare from Bellamy or a sharp look from Clarke had quieted most of them.

He didn’t care what people thought. He just cared that she felt safe enough to stay: with the Ark and with him.

“It made me kill you,” she whispered in the dawn light one morning about a month after returning. “Over and over. The demon would make me see you. Sometimes it was Wells or Raven or my parents, but most of the time it was you. Every time I thought that you were real, that you had come to find me, or I had come back here. You were right there in front of me, and then I was stabbing you, and I couldn’t stop myself. You couldn’t stop me, just standing there looking at me and letting me ki-kill you.”

Her voice cracked, and Bellamy roughly pulled her to him. “Like I said that night,” he murmured. “You didn’t kill me. Not only would you never kill me, I would never let you. Your grip on your knife is always too stiff, I keep telling you that. Loosen up, or you’ll never be able to switch orientation and avoid someone knocking it away. Which is definitely what I would do if you came at me.”

Clarke let out a watery laugh at that, burrowing into him. Then her head tipped up, and up, and her lips ghosted over his, so cautious. He kissed her back fiercely, wanting to drive away her wariness. She hummed as he rolled her on top of him, shifting up so she could grip his face and kiss him back with equal fervor.

“It’s you,” she whispered against his mouth. “It’s always been you.”

And then Clarke smiled, a thing as golden as the sunlight that played in the strands of her bright hair, and Bellamy swore that in that moment, he saw the cracks in his soul and hers start to mend.

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on tumblr (kay-emm-gee)!


End file.
